This thing chokes inside,
and breathes without reason
it makes meaning endless
it puts an end to the meaningless

Through form,
and with whisper
there lay the gap
a hole was punctured
with heat and metal

Dear Lord....
if i make good with promise
maybe You could turn back these days

I must own up
to all that I have done
suture this faithless
My faceless disguise

I trust You though
I know that You are of love
the fault is all mine
and I will open for You

I am among you
we are the children of sin
the children of sin and repair